Meet the Pyro
by Ellemgram
Summary: How does a camera crew document the history of a mercenary who can't - or won't - speak for himself?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"Come on, mate, I've gone through this once. Don't make me do it again." The Sniper leaned back in his chair and crossed his long legs, frowning at the camera crew assembling a makeshift set in front of him. One of the spot lights was already threatening to trigger his migraine, not to mention the way the back of the chair bit into his spine.

The director smiled broadly at the Australian. "Ah, but this is different! This time we want to know more about someone else on your team. Think of it as… a service to your audience."

"You know as well as I do that none of these tapes will ever see the light of day, mate. My employer'll never let it happen."

For a moment, the director didn't reply, though he took a deep breath and rubbed at his temples. The crewmen exchanged knowing glances as they continued to erect the set – they knew that look well.

Just as Sniper thought he was in the clear, the director replied, his voice hard. "Your employment contract stipulates that you will perform a video interview-"

"_One_ interview, mate. One."

"I'm not finished." The director leveled his gaze at the Sniper. "It also included follow-up interviews if necessary. Right here in the fine print." He thumbed through the stapled contract in his lap, found the page he wanted, and shoved it into Sniper's hands.

A warning shout resounded across the half-finished set, and Sniper looked up just in time to jump out of the way of a wooden light support that demolished the chair where he'd been a moment before. Apologetic crewmen rushed through the settling debris; the mercenary silenced them with a glare.

"You can take your contract and shove it," Sniper snarled. "I'm here to do one thing, and that's liberate brains from their skulls from a hundred meters away. End of story."

The director brushed bits of wood and dust off his coat and coughed. If he was unsettled by the six-foot chunk of plywood that nearly crushed him, he didn't show it. "If you violate the terms of your contract, your earnings are forfeit. That includes whatever you've already spent. Unless you plan to repay three years' salary, I suggest you smile and start talking."

Sniper stared at the man in front of him. His fingers twitched, itching for the machete that usually hung at his side.

"Cheer up, Mr. Mundy. You were the first one to meet the man. It only makes sense for you to be the first one we talk to."

A crewmember scurried toward the two men, a wheeled chair in his arms, depositing it in front of the Australian before disappearing among the people frantically working to get the set back in place. Sensing defeat, Sniper slumped into it and waved a hand in the air. "Fine."

The director smiled again. "I'm so glad you've seen reason, Mr. Mundy."

"Shut yer yap or I'll change my mind." With a wordless grumble, Sniper pulled

the hat off his head and ran a hand through his hair. "It started three years ago."

Seven days had passed since the mercenaries had first set foot on the godforsaken patch of land, and since he was the one with a high-powered scope rifle and a caffeine habit, he'd been chosen to stand guard that night. He pressed his back against the rough wooden balcony, wishing he had thought to bring something warmer than a thin shirt, vest, and jeans. More than that, though, he wished he was stretched out in the bed he'd fashioned in the back of his van.

Steam rose from the paper cup on his left. With a sigh, he rested his rifle in his lap and took a sip. The brew was weak but passable – and most importantly, it was warm.

Voices and the sound of shuffling feet came from the haystacks behind the balcony, the sounds of exhausted men too wound up by a day of bloodshed and adrenaline to sleep. Every so often, the voices would rise and Sniper could make out every word they were saying, but for the most part they kept their conversation to a dull murmur.

Sniper appreciated that. He'd been fighting a migraine all day, and he wished someone else had volunteered to stand guard. Surely he wasn't the only one capable of spending a maddening stretch of time staring at the shadows cast over the makeshift bridge that separated their fort from the one erected by the Builders.

Heavy bootsteps echoed down the corridor to his left. Sniper turned to see the Engineer appear around the corner. He held a toolbox in one hand and his indispensable pipe wrench in the other.

"Howdy." With a metallic crunch, the Engineer dropped the toolbox next to Sniper then settled so his legs hung off the balcony.

Sniper nodded. "Commotion gettin' to be a bit much for you, Conagher?"

"Nah. I got somethin' to show ya." With a grin – Sniper was never sure if his smiles were friendly or manic – Dale Conagher flipped the toolbox open. Inside it was a smallish square contraption, its front panel lit up with a flurry of blinking lights.

"What is it?"

"This, my Aussie friend, will eliminate our need for lookouts. I call it the Tripbot. I put it together from parts I scavenged in the intel room. It casts an infrared grid in any room you leave it in, and if anything crosses one of those grid lines or attaches a sapper to the main unit it screams like you wouldn't believe." The lights from the Tripbot reflected in his goggles like flames.

Sniper raised his eyebrows. "Does it work?"

The Engineer coughed. "Well, no. Not yet. I'm hopin' t'have it up and runnin' within the week, though. I just wanted you to be the first one t'see it, since you're always stuck up here."

"You know that Helen sheila won't like you building unauthorized machinery," Sniper said.

The Engineer rolled his eyes. "I could care less what that woman thinks. I hear enough of her as it is, screechin' in mah ear about intel and match points when I'm tryin' t'build and maintain four different machines all at once." He snapped the toolbox shut. "But in any case, this won't be used fer the fights. Just after dark, in case one of those Blu fools is tempted to sneak in while we're asleep."

"Well thanks heaps, Conagher." Sniper smiled. Of the eight mercenaries that had been hired by Redmond Mann, he liked Conagher the best. At least, the Engineer seemed the sanest of the bunch.

A furious roar resounded from the haystack behind the men, followed by the sound of metal meeting flesh and a high-pitched shriek. The Engineer sighed.

"Sounds like Heavy got ahold of Scout's bat," he said. "I don't understand those two. We're on the same team an' all, but it seems like all they want to do is egg each other on. You'd think after a week they'd either avoid each other or make amends."

Sniper shrugged. "I don't pretend to understand why any of us are here, mate. My main concern's the paycheck and the bungalow I'll buy once my contract's up."

With a groan, the Engineer stood and gathered his toolbox under one arm. He nearly had to yell over the sounds of Boston-accented anguish and throaty laughter. "I'm gonna try to get some shut eye. Wish me luck."

Alone again, Sniper returned his attention to the covered bridge and murky moat below him. He took another sip of coffee before bringing the rifle up to his eye once more, scoping from one end of the Builders' fortress to the other.

Then he saw something.

Sniper swung the rifle to the right, focusing past the impossibly high fence that separated the forts from an expanse of barren desert that stretched as far as the eye could see. The mercenaries weren't allowed past the fence; as far as Sniper knew, no one was.

But there it was. A flicker, bright against the moonlight sand. And as he watched, the flicker grew into a flame that illuminated the unmistakable silhouette of a head and shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

Sniper squinted. Even with the high-powered scope, he couldn't see much of the person sitting next to the fire. From what little he could make out, they looked midsized, with some kind of contraption hooked to their back and a long, thin object across their lap. Their features were completely hidden by some kind of mask that jutted out on the side of their face.

"Strewth!" Lowering the rifle, Sniper stood and hurried into the haystacks, his boots scratching against the rough wooden floor.

The other seven mercenaries were scattered through the room, as per the usual nighttime ceasefire routine. The Medic was busy bandaging a bloody mess on the floor that, upon closer inspection, turned out to be a half-conscious Scout. A stream of cursing identified Demoman and Soldier, already on their way to becoming fast friends, arm wrestling over a wooden crate, their good-natured trash talk barely understandable and becoming more slurred with every swig of hooch. In the corner, Heavy carefully wiped fingerprints off his minigun, singing something under his breath; Sniper guessed it was a Russian lullaby. Conagher was nowhere to be seen.

The Australian moved to the center of the room. He nearly had to yell to be heard over his coworkers. "Someone's outside the fence. I think we ought to check it out."

No reply. It took several seconds for anyone to even acknowledge him, and even then the reply was less than supportive.

"Yeah, buddy? Well some of us have other problems," Scout snapped, wincing as the Medic yanked a bandage tighter around his midsection. "How about you trot outside and take a look yourself? Or are you too used to hiding in here while the rest of us do the real work?"

Medic pulled the bandage tighter; Sniper couldn't be sure whether the pain or his icy glare silenced any more of Scout's protests. "I'll keep that in mind next time you've got half the Blu team on your back." His eyes landed on the Spy. "What about you, mate? Isn't subterfuge your specialty?"

The masked man gave Sniper an appraising look as he exhaled a plume of smoke. A dog-eared copy of _The Count of Monte Cristo_ sat open on his lap. "I am not paid to work past the ceasefire. What goes on outside our borders does not interest me." He flicked his cigarette and went back to the book.

"So no one'll come with me? At all?"

Nothing. With a sigh, the Australian shouldered his rifle and headed toward the stairs that led into the fort's courtyard.

When Redmond Mann had first approached him about a covert operation in the American Southwest, the Australian had been skeptical. But the more Mann talked about it, the more excited Sniper had become. Judging from the way Mann explained the assignment, three months in the field would have paid enough for a year in luxury.

At the rate things were going, though, Sniper doubted he'd be able to refrain from killing his coworkers. Permanently.

Once outside, Sniper peered around the corner, his rifle against his chest in case he needed to fire in a hurry. When he chanced a look through the scope, he saw the fire – and the person in front of it – was still there, though the flames had died down to glowing coals person had slumped forward, as if they'd fallen asleep. Sniper smiled. He liked those odds much better.

It took less than a minute to reach the fence and find a section of chain-link loose enough for him to scurry under. He briefly contemplated the punishment he'd face if Helen – or worse, Redmond Mann – learned he'd gone out of bounds.

But someone had to make sure the person at the fire wasn't a threat.

He crept forward, struggling to keep his footing when every step put him ankle-deep in sand. Pitiful shrubs became makeshift cover, allowing him to duck and eye his target through the scope every few minutes to check for movement. Before he knew it, he was less than fifty yards from the fire. Sniper dropped to his stomach and crawled to the next shrub. His heart pounded in his chest as he pulled the scope up for another look.

The person at the fire hadn't moved, but this time something seemed… off. Now that he was closer, he could see that the person's head hung at an unnatural angle, and its limbs lay lifelessly at its sides. Sniper frowned and shifted backward.

But as he pushed himself back with his elbows, the sole of his struck something solid. And whatever it was, it hadn't been there before.

Sniper scrambled onto his hands and knees, only to have the wind knocked out of him when a knee planted itself between his shoulder blades. Stunned and winded, he felt himself roughly flipped onto his back, allowing him a full view of the axe blade now pressed against his Adam's apple.


	3. Chapter 3

The Australian's eyes trailed up the axe's rusty edge to the gloved hands holding it, then further to a filthy set of red coveralls. As the dust around them settled, he could see his captor's face was fully obscured by a black gas mask with darkened eye holes.

"I- sorry mate, I-" he stammered, inching back from the blade at his throat. He could see himself reflected in the mask's eye holes. "We're a wee bit paranoid up at the fort, you see, and I-"

A grunt, and the blade pushed further in. Heat flared at Sniper's throat, followed by the unmistakable feel of something trickling down his skin. He'd died a hundred times since being hired by Redmond Mann, and every time he woke up in the barracks with a splitting headache and an impulse to surge back out into the battle. But something told him this psychopath was playing for keeps.

The masked person leaned back suddenly and stood, grabbing Sniper's collar and hauling him roughly to his feet. Forceful hands shoved the mercenary so he was turned away from his captor, who pressed something round and hollow against Sniper's shoulders. With his free hand, the stranger freed Sniper's machete from its holster and tossed it to the ground, then kicked the rifle so it spiraled across the sand and landed in a dune twenty feet away.

"Okay, I get it." Sniper sighed and raised his hands, allowing the stranger to escort him to the fire.

Once they made it to the stranger's makeshift campsite, Sniper realized the figure he'd assumed was a person turned out to be an uprooted bush draped in a pair of coveralls similar to the ones worn by his captor. Sand filled the coveralls' arms and legs, giving it a weak appearance of limbs. The head had been fashioned out of a rock and was balanced precariously in the shrub's branches. Anger flooded through Sniper; he'd walked right into a trap so willingly he might as well have been some novice recruit.

To his surprise, the pressure on his back disappeared, and his captor stepped around him. Then the masked man fished a lighter out of a pocket and knelt next to the fire. A burst of flame erupted from the lighter – Sniper jerked back in surprise; he'd never seen a simple cigarette lighter do that before – and the fire grew back into a crackling tower of flame. A low chuckle came from inside the gas mask.

Sniper stood there, unsure of what to do. Now that the stranger's back was to him, he could see the apparatus on their back was a scuffed oxygen tank attached to a pair of suspenders. The Australian frowned. Part of him wanted to dart for his gun, but if the psycho in front of him had led him here at gunpoint, he had no doubts an escape attempt would lead to a bullet in his head.

"Er," he began.

Before he could speak, though, the stranger jumped, as if he had forgotten Sniper was there. In an instant, Sniper found himself staring into a scuffed metal barrel almost as big as his head. A white barrel groaned against two supports that led from the barrel's midsection, and a single plume of flame glowed from a smaller pipe that snaked up to the end of the contraption. The entire setup reeked of propane. Sniper's stomach dropped when he realized what it was.

"No need for that, mate," he chuckled nervously, raising his hands again. "I've got no intentions of comin' after ya."

For what felt like an eternity, Sniper stared into the empty holes that obscured his captor's eyes. All Sniper could hear was the crackle of the fire and the steady sound of breathing from within the gas mask. Then, painfully slowly, the flamethrower barrel lowered and Sniper sagged in relief.

At that moment, Sniper saw the insignia embroidered on the stranger's shoulders: a yellow flame surrounded by a circle. He raised an eyebrow. "You're one of Redmond's hired guns?"

The gas mask bobbed an affirmative.

"Then why are you out here? Shouldn't you have come on the train, like everyone else?"

Nothing. Sniper tried another course of action. "Do you have a name?"

"Mrrho."

"What?"

"…My…rhho."

Sniper eyed the insignia. "Pyro?"

Another nod.

A pyrotechnic expert. That made sense; Soldier and Scout were the only two offensive men on the team. With a third offensive class, it would make the numbers even, and Sniper failed to see how someone with a five-foot flamethrower wouldn't be at the front of the battle toasting enemies right and left. The morale impact he'd have on the Blu team would be enough to make a difference – Sniper doubted anyone could look at someone who appeared to have crawled out of a post-apocalyptic wasteland and not be at least slightly creeped out. "Then why- I mean, why didn't you tell me?"

The Pyro didn't reply. Sniper sighed. "Okay, tell you what. If you're one of the mercs Redmond hired then we need to get you up to the fort, let the Medic take a look at ya, get ya hooked up for uber charges and all that. It beats sleeping out here, that's fer sure."

Pyro made a gesture Sniper assumed was an affirmative and picked up a small, dark bag. Sniper squinted.

"Is that… is that a purse, mate?" Before he could look any closer, the Pyro made an angry noise and yanked the bag around so it was hidden from view. "Okay, okay. Sorry. Just… just follow me."


	4. Chapter 4

With a grunt, Sniper – rifle and machete now back in his possession – wiggled under the fence after his former captor. To his surprise, he had trouble catching up with his companion's quick, shuffling steps as the two walked through the Red fort entrance.

The fort was dark and silent. Sniper felt a surge of anger. So they had let him walk out in the dark, by himself, and just gone to sleep? Nice to know he was appreciated.

Then he thought about the Engineer's newest invention and paused. He was immune to his coworkers' weaponry, but the newcomer would be as good as dead if one of Conagher's sentries was right around the corner. Sniper held out an arm, stopping the Pyro short.

"You might let me go in first, just in ca-"

"What on God's green earth is _that_?" Soldier's words slurred together as he leaned against the doorway that led to the open-air courtyard in the fort. He'd traded his usual waistcoat and pants for a patched pair of pajamas and a robe that looked like it desperately needed washing.

"Found 'im outside, Doe." Sniper shrugged. "Says Redmond hired him on."

If the soldier heard Sniper's words, he didn't show it. "I don't –hic- trust a man who won't show his face. Cowardly, 'swhat it is. C'mere, Nancy, and let me get a better look at ya…" As he shambled forward, Soldier lost his balance and crashed into the flamethrower-toting Pyro. With an angry shout, the newcomer stepped back and let the drunken American fall face-first on the ground. An instant later the flamethrower was pointed at the back of his head.

Sniper raised an eyebrow, then threw an arm around the pyro's shoulders and gently steered him around the prone armyman. "You'll be working alongside him, I'm afraid."

His companion grunted in reply.

The pair topped the stairs to the haystack and approached the barracks. As the metal door slid open, Sniper gestured to a row of open-faced wooden lockers along the wall. "Yeh can put yer bag in there, mate. I'll need t'let our medic know you're here. He… well… there are some, er, procedures Redmond expects him to run on us."

The Pyro stiffened, uttering something so soft it was inaudible and almost impossible to understand through the gas mask. After several seconds, though, he complied, allowing Sniper the time to slip out of the barracks.

It took less than five minutes for Sniper to find the Medic. The doctor tended to spend most of his time in his office – a closet-sized storeroom converted into a makeshift surgical ward – with his prized book collection and, to Sniper's bemusement, a handful of white pigeons.

Sniper rapped on the door twice. The hollow sound echoed through the fort like gunfire. A moment later, he heard something shift, and the door swung open to reveal the mercenaries' doctor.

"Vat is it, mein freund?" Medic crossed his arms and glared down at the Australian. "Did Heavy break Scout's neck again?"

"Doc." Sniper jerked a hand toward the front barracks. "We got a newcomer here."

A smile broke out on the Medic's face. "Ah, mein pyromaniac! I vas wondering ven he would show up!"

"You knew someone else was coming?"

"_Ja_." Medic gave Sniper a sidelong look as he opened the door to the front barrack. "Miss Pauling briefed me this morning. I _am_ the physician, after all."

At that, the doctor leaned back inside his quarters, emerging once more with a white lab coat that he hurriedly swung over his shoulders.

A dull roar, punctuated by shouts that were easily identified as the soldier's voice, met the Medic and Sniper as they trotted toward the barracks. Once inside, they found the rest of Redmond's hired hands clustered in a semi-circle around the newcomer, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright suspicion.

"What's up with the suit?" Scout limped close enough to peer into the Pyro's eyeholes. "You ugly or somethin'?"

"If ugly needed suit, you would have suit," the Heavy growled.

"Don't start with me, fatty, or I'll break your skull."

"Scout is weak, just like bunny on jammies."

"Why you-!"

"Men!" Medic shoved his way through his coworkers until he stood next to the Pyro. "Give our new arrival some air, please! Mr. Doe, if you would kindly go sit down before you hurt someone. Mr. DeGroot, please help him to one of the benches."

"That maggot pushed me! I think he broke my nose!"

Sniper opened his mouth to protest, but Medic spoke first, his face set in a disdainful expression. "Mein freund, I'm astounded you're still conscious, given the amount of alcohol you consumed. Now sit down and be silent."

With one last grumble, Soldier shoved the Demoman's helpful arm aside and dropped onto one of the benches on the far end of the room. He glared at the newcomer as the doctor flicked a pen out of one of his coat pockets and opened up a package of notes he'd brought with him from his office.

"I believe you are ze last of our team," he said, tapping the clipboard with his pen. "Pyrotechnician. Flamethrower, shotgun, fire axe. Quick enough on your feet, plenty of endurance. Offensive detail, recruited to counteract the cloaking technologies developed by the Spy."

The Spy flicked his cigarette. "You mean to tell me Redmond's crew hired a mercenary for the sole purpose of… setting the other team's spy on fire?"

"I would be more worried about my own skin, if I vere you." Medic shrugged. "Blutarch is sure to hire one of his own soon. Redmond cannot do much without his brother close behind."

"Blu Spy on fire is good." Heavy nodded. "I am not friend of Blu Spy. He twists knife when he stabs. Hurts like bear. Taunts me like crab."

"I gotta admit, it'll be nice to have someone else watchin' my back," Engie said. "That Blu Spy is a monster with those sappers."

The Medic scratched at his chin, eyeing the Pyro like a butcher appraising a particularly meaty cow. "I think he will work nicely, but I'll know more after a physical and a practice run before the cease-fire ends in the morning."

The Pyro flinched at the mention of a physical, but said nothing. The Medic clapped an arm around the newcomer's shoulders and grinned.

"Mein freund," he chuckled, "let me be ze first to welcome you to Teufort."


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for the reviews so far, guys! I appreciate any and all constructive criticism. :)**

**Sorry for the erratic updates. I'm going to shoot for two updates a week from here on out!**

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><p>Pyro stumbled out the barrack door, stopping just in time to avoid a rocket that whizzed through the haystack and exploded on the far wall.<p>

"Don't think I forgot about you, Nancy! Let's see how well you do in a fair fight!" The Soldier strode through the clearing smoke and aimed his rocket launcher directly at the Pyro's midsection, his face set in a deep scowl.

The Medic sighed from his position on the courtyard platform, impatiently tapping his pencil against the clipboard in his lap. "Herr Doe, please leave my patient alone. Ze Pyro only just had the damage-disabling procedure this morning. Give him time to adjust to ze new… modifications."

"What're you protecting him for, doc? If he plans to stay, he needs to learn to run with the big dogs! To bite! To howl! To hike his le- er…" Soldier frowned. "How does he use the bathroom in that contraption, anyway?"

The Pyro avoided the stairs completely, dropping into the courtyard from the platform with a grunt. Under Medic's supervision, the masked mercenary fired at a handful of clay pigeons fired over the courtyard's wire fence.

Sniper watched the proceedings from his roost on the barrack roof. The early morning sun cast long red rays across the empty bridge and moat, giving the patch of neutral ground a serene appearance. But the relative peace the Red fort enjoyed wouldn't last long. Any minute, Helen would give the announcement that the cease-fire was over and the mercenaries would get back to what they did best. Sniper could already see the tops of the Blu mercenaries' heads as they peeked out to assess what their opponents were up to.

Another explosion rocked the courtyard. The Pyro promptly burst into a hundred bloody chunks that scattered through the courtyard. The reverberations were nearly hard enough to knock the Sniper off of his perch.

"Not so fun now, eh Nancy?" Soldier smirked. "That's how real men fight."

"Enough!" Medic threw his clipboard to the ground and storemd toward the chuckling army man. Before the Soldier could react, the Medic grabbed him by the collar and lifted him until only his toes touched the ground. "I vill not tell you again, Herr Doe. If you fire at the Pyro again, I'll tear your wiring out with my bare hands and leave you for ze Blu mercenaries."

The two men stared at each other, neither willing to break eye contact. Finally, Soldier's face hardened, but he nodded as the Pyro stumbled out of the barracks again, unscathed but dazed.

"Come down here, _freund_, and I'll show you the basics of an ubercharge." The Medic dropped Soldier with one last frustrated scoff and slung his medigun around. "Ze medigun does most of ze work, but you might feel a slight burning somevere around your sternum the first couple of times."

"Y'know, doc, the problem with you educated types is this." With one meaty hand, the Soldier shoved the doctor to the ground and took aim at the Pyro. "You all think everyone will listen to every word you say." He raised his voice into a mocking singsong. "Oh, Nan-cee!"

The Soldier fired.

Cursing, Medic leapt to his feet, only to be bowled over again by a sudden blast of air that rattled the loose boards along the balcony. As he scrambled to his feet for a second time, he caught sight of the Soldier's rocket in mid air – except this time it was aimed at the man who had fired it. Before the Soldier could react, the rocket blew him into a dozen pieces.

"You did that?" Medic asked, his eyes locked on the Pyro, who still held the flamethrower in position.

"Mmm." The Pyro shuffled forward and kicked at the Soldier's remains, a low chuckle huffing from inside the mask. A moment later, a string of curses flew out of the barracks, followed by a red-faced soldier who took one look at the Pyro and stomped toward the intel room.

Medic raised an eyebrow. Maybe there was more to the new recruit than he'd originally thought.


	6. Chapter 6

**Prepare for a deviation from canon. :P**

**No, I don't have any personal issues with the Soldier. XD He's just convenient and hot-headed, which makes him perfect for my purposes.**

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><p>"Mission begins in thirty seconds."<p>

The Red mercenaries scrambled through their fort, each caught up in their own last-minute preparations. Sniper and Scout stood at the entrance to the balcony, waiting for the high-pitched buzz that would signal the beginning of the first match of the day. For Scout, that meant flinging himself off the platform and onto the covered bridge to do battle with his Blu counterpart. For Sniper, it meant trying to get an early shot at the Blu team's Heavy. Below them, the Medic hoisted his gun forward with a grunt.

"Ivan! I have an uber ready!"

"Very good, doctor!" With a sausage-sized thumb, Heavy flicked a speck of dust off of Sasha's barrel. "Sasha says is ready!"

"Mission begins in ten seconds."

The Demoman crouched at the top of a metal grate on the second floor that allowed him full view of the fort's first-floor entrance. If the smell of his alcohol-soaked belches didn't deter the other team, the potassium-chloride-packed booby traps set up throughout the fort's entrance would.

The Engineer stepped back and grinned at the level three sentry poised at the top of the courtyard walkway. "Beautiful. Just beautiful."

"Five…"

Spy slunk back into the shadows, extinguishing his cigarette and enabling the cloaking device that would hide him from sight long enough to creep behind the Blu mercenaries.

"Four…"

With a grumble, a panting Soldier joined Sniper and Scout. The previous night's binge drinking hadn't treated him well; dark circles shadowed his bloodshot eyes, and he winced at the sound of the announcer's steady voice. When he straightened, his face twisted into a weary smirk. "I can't wait to see Nancy's first taste of battle. That man wouldn't know the meaning of fight if it bit him in the face!"

"Three…"

"But he blew you up with your own rocket." Scout tossed his bat in the air and caught it in one hand.

"Two…"

"That's irrelevant!"

"One." A pause, then. "Prepare to capture the intelligence. Move!"

Soldier, Sniper and Scout surged forward, momentarily bottlenecking themselves in the narrow corridor before they shifted into a single-file line. The Soldier aimed a rocket at the ground and looked back at his companions, his eyes wild.

"Remember men, there's no victory in defeat!" At that, he jumped into the air, firing at the same time so the force of the blow shot him all the way to Blu's balcony.

"Have on the sidelines, Mundy." Scout leapt forward, ready to trade blows with the Blu Scout that raced to meet him in the middle of the bridge. A sudden cacophony of gunshots drowned out Sniper's less-than-friendly reply.

The next hour devolved into a chaotic mess of screams and loose limbs raining from the sky. Twice, Sniper found a knife between his shoulder blades, courtesy of the opposing Spy. The first time, he had woken up in the barracks and chased his masked enemy all the way to the intelligence room, finishing him off with a shot from his sub-machine gun. On the second occasion, though, Mr. Mundy wasn't so lucky.

"Bugger!" He snapped as he charged out of the barracks, machete clenched in his fist. "Engineer! Spy's around!"

"I'll keep an eye out for him, Mundy," Engineer yelled over the sound of his sentry, which was busy firing shots at the Blu Scout. Less than halfway through the courtyard, the Blu Scout collapsed on the ground with a scream. "Is the intel room clear? That-" he jerked his head at the bloody remains of the Blu team's Scout "-might have been a distraction."

"I'll check." Winding past the smoking sentry and the Engineer working to reload its multiple chambers, the Sniper hurried down the circular tunnel that led to the team's intelligence room.

Weapon at the ready, Sniper ducked around the corner and into an adjacent corridor, his free arm out in front of him. The cloaked Spy might be invisible, but that didn't mean Sniper wouldn't feel it if he bumped into him.

Sniper breathed a sigh of relief when he rounded the corner and found the intelligence briefcase still secure on its desk, with no Spies to be seen. Someone else must have intercepted the Blu Spy, or he'd gotten cocky and headed back into the fray. The Australian squared his shoulders and turned to head back to his balcony.

Then he froze.

The Blu Spy stood in front of him, knife in the air and aimed at his sternum.

"Not this time, you wanker!" Sniper leapt back, but not fast enough to keep the blade from grazing his midsection. Pain shot through him as he ran backward, fighting to settle his rifle's crosshairs on the advancing Spy.

Another swipe slashed Sniper's face open from temple to chin. He rammed his shoulder into his opponent, then swung back to aim a boot at the Spy's sternum. Something cracked against the top of Sniper's head – he realized too late that it was the Blu Spy's pistol – and he dropped.

"How many times have we met like this?" The Blu Spy meandered toward his fallen foe, a lazy smile on his face. "How many times have you faced me, only to fail? Many times, my friend."

"Y'can't kill me," Sniper growled. "Not for keeps. I'll be right back down here before you know it."

The Spy pressed the pistol against Sniper's forehead. "Ah, so you Red fellows don't know. There's talk in the Blu barracks of a kill limit. They say once you've played these war games long enough, been blown to pieces enough times... you disconnect. And then you are gone. I'm hoping maybe, just maybe, this time will-"

But the Spy's next words were cut off by a sudden muffled cry followed by an intense burst of heat. Sniper fell back, an arm over his face as he watched his opponent burst into flames. It took only a few seconds for the charred bits that were the Blu Spy to collect into a small pile on the floor. The smell of burnt flesh came next, mixed with a propane scent that stung the back of Sniper's throat.

"Huh huh huh." As the smoke cleared, the Australian found two lifeless eyes staring back at him.

"You came right in the nick of time, mate." Sniper chuckled and gratefully allowed the Pyro to pull him to his feet. "I expect you'll give that bugger a run for his money, eh?"

The Pyro stared at him for a second, then turned and headed back up to the battlements, boots squealing against the tile floor. As far as the Australian could tell, Pyro had been busy so far – the coveralls were even dirtier now, and smeared with dark smudges that could only be blood. The fire axe, secured in a sling on the Pyro's side, was tinted red.

The fighting. That's where Sniper was supposed to be, too. With a groan, he wiped at the cut on his cheek with the corner of his vest and made his way to the stairs. If the Blu Spy was careful, he could make it back to Red's fort in five minutes, maybe less. He had to get back to the courtyard and warn the Engineer.

Halfway up the tunnel, though, the intercom crackled. Then Helen's voice rang through the fort, calmly saying two of the words Sniper hated most.

"Sudden death."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note:**This will be the last chapter to this story. I had some plans to expand it into something bigger, but my original intent was to stay in the same vein as other "Meet the Team" videos. For that reason, I want to keep it short, sweet, and over-the-top, just like its predecessors.

I hope you enjoyed the story! Thanks everyone for the reviews.

* * *

><p>"I think they got us this time, pals." Scout held a bloodied rag against the side of his head as he cowered behind the bullet-ridden remains of the fort entrance.<p>

The Medic agreed, though he would never admit it. Instead, he cinched a makeshift tourniquet above the oozing mess that covered his right leg and took a deep breath. A few feet away, the Engineer knelt over what was left of the Medigun, muttering under his breath as he tried to get it back in working order before the inevitable rush from Blu.

Aside from the doctor, Scout and Engineer, the Red mercenaries were boosted with a single miniature sentry – hastily assembled by the Engineer and weak enough a single well-aimed shot could easily take it down.

"Mein freunds, the Blu forces are reduced to their Heavy, Demoman, Engineer and Spy. Zeir medic is down. Don't give up hope just yet." But even as the doctor said it, he knew it was a lie. Here they were, huddling behind a piece of wood that would crumble if someone looked at it hard enough, with the semi-sentry, a busted Medigun, and Scout's bat.

"Oh yeah, Doc? And what do you think we should do?" Scout glared at him. "Should we run out there and hope it summons the magical victory fairy?"

Medic silenced him with a look. He didn't want to lose – every loss impacted their paychecks, after all - but it would end the round and send them all back to the barracks. Maybe then Helen would let them rest until the evening round. "Perhaps one of ours is still around on the Blu side. That might be why they haven't rushed yet."

"Don't be stupid. They're biding their time, same as us." Scout poked his head around the barrier, only to jerk back as a bullet scored a groove in the concrete directly above his forehead. "Help ain't comin'."

Medic had a feeling the young Bostonian was right. They'd both seen Ivan go down from the Blu Sniper's bullet, and the Red Spy had been the victim of a sticky bomb nest from the opposing Demoman. Their team's Sniper and Demoman hadn't had any more luck. If the rest of the team fell – and Medic had a feeling they wouldn't last long – their intelligence briefcase was as good as gone.

And as for the new recruit, well, no one had seen the Pyro in ages. Everyone assumed he had fallen fairly early in the sudden death round.

"If I had an hour, I could get this blasted thing goin' again." A spark arced from the Medigun to the Engineer's finger, eliciting a curse from the Southerner. "Keeps shocking me."

"Tough luck, Tex. We got maybe ten minutes, tops." His chest tightening, the Scout pressed himself against the concrete and leaned sideways just enough to catch a glimpse of the bridge outside. "I think they're getting ready to rush."

With one last, hopeless look at the Medigun, the Medic tightened his grip on his bloodied bone saw and took a deep breath. "Very well, then. Brace yourselves, freunds."

"Hey, Doc?"

"Ja?"

"I'll distract 'em if you and Tex want to try and take a few down with ya."

Medic shook his head. "Nein. Let's just get this over with."

A soft click sounded over Medic's shoulder as the Engineer slid his last remaining clip into his pistol. Scout shifted into a runner's stance and took a deep breath. "Alright. On three. One. Two-"

An explosion rocked the entryway where the remaining mercenaries hid. Scout flew backward, landing in a heap at the Medic's feet. As the rubble cleared, he sat up with a groan and tucked his legs up to his chest, pressing both hands against his ragged ear.  
>"I am done with today. Let it be known. After this, the only thing I want is a visit to the aid station, a shower and bed. No more of this crap. Not until tomorrow. Helen can take her rules and-"<p>

"Shut it, son." Bits of concrete crunched under the Engineer's boots as he approached the doorway and leaned outside. "Something happened to the Blu guys."

The wooden structure around them gave one last, halfhearted shudder before it crumbled, giving the few remaining Red mercenaries a full view of the stretch of no-man's-land in front of them. Medic climbed to his feet and shifted his saw onto his shoulder. But what he saw was enough for him to stagger into the light, the pain in his leg forgotten.

"...mein Gott..." A severed wrist smoked at the Medic's feet. He kicked it aside, scanning the dozens of other body parts that littered the ground around him. His mind raced. Maybe later he could scavenge them for spare parts. It was always helpful to have some of the more important organs – lungs, hearts, kidneys – on hand in a pinch.

Medic shook his head. That wasn't important right now. "What happened here?"

A quick scraping noise made the doctor jump. He turned to see the Pyro sitting against the fort's outer wall, absentmindedly flicking a very familiar blue cigarette lighter on and off. Medic cleared his throat, his eyes fixed on their newest recruit. His stare was rewarded with a muffled laugh and a thumbs-up.

"Pyro, this..." Medic gestured at the carnage, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. "...was you?"

The Pyro nodded and stood as Helen's voice came from the fort intercom behind them, her words loud over a recording of generic cheers. Ignoring the announcer's words, the newcomer disappeared inside the fort.

"Match over. Red team wins."


End file.
